


Neither Nor

by Jougetsu



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Gold Tree and Silver Tree
Genre: Backstory, Freeform, Multi, Pre-Canon, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-31 22:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10908807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jougetsu/pseuds/Jougetsu
Summary: How the Prince's Second Wife came to the palace.Senta was not ugly, nor was she beautiful. In short she was ordinary, a vexing circumstance when one’s four sisters and three brothers were extraordinarily talented and fair of face. There was little to distinguish Senta and many who visited the duke and duchess came away thinking they had seven children instead of eight.





	Neither Nor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hydrangea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydrangea/gifts).



> Thank you Hydrangea for giving me the chance to write this little story of the Second Wife! We had originally matched on another fandom, but I was so intrigued by a canon M x F x F fairytale that I read the story and was hooked on your request to give Second Wife some background. 
> 
>  
> 
> Note: The prince has been upgraded to a king here as one assumes time passed after Gold Tree's death and he ascended the throne.

Senta was not ugly, nor was she beautiful. Like most people certain facial expressions and garments showed her to advantage while others did not. In short she was ordinary, a vexing circumstance when one’s four sisters and three brothers were extraordinarily talented and fair of face. There was little to distinguish Senta and many who visited the duke and duchess came away thinking they had seven children instead of eight. 

Which was why it was surprising that King Colin asked the duke and duchess for Senta’s hand in marriage when he visited their estate. 

“If it would please you, I would like to ask for your daughter Senta’s hand in marriage.” 

King Colin did not think he needed to add the extra ‘please’ as he was the king, but it would not do for the king to be unmannerly. 

Duke Ingmar was puzzled. “Are you certain you are not confusing Senta for Julia?”

“No, I do not mean Julia,” sighed Colin. “Lady Julia is fair-haired and plays the harp and a dozen more instruments besides. And to my knowledge Lady Julia’s troth is already pledged. I very much mean Lady Senta.”

“No, no, that cannot be right,” Duchess Margaretha shook her head vehemently. “Your Majesty must mean our daughter Clothilde. Or Adelaide. Or Philipinna.” 

“No,” Colin rubbed his temples even though a king should not show failings such as feeling irritation or being prone to headaches. “Lady Clothilde is red-headed, speaks six languages, and binds her own books. Lady Adelaide has green eyes and dances as though her bones are bird-hollow. Lady Philipinna is left-handed and embroiders the deeds of saints on cushions. No, I mean Lady Senta. That is whom I wish to marry.” 

“Are you very certain you do not mean Gareth? From time to time he’ll take a dress from his sisters and go dancing,” the Duchess explained. “For he is so lovely that he is not bound by convention and thinks nothing of society’s rules. He has many lordly admirers so you would not be the first to fall for him.”

“No, I met Gareth,” answered Colin. “Gareth is exceedingly fair of face and figure and charming as a sweet songbird at dawn, but it is Senta I am thinking of.” 

“Then describe her,” challenged the duke. “If you are enraptured by her.” 

“She is neither tall nor short, neither lanky nor stout. Her hair is brown as are her eyes. She is not inclined to great conversation, but speaks when she has something to say. She’s clever enough to know her limits and isn’t afraid to laugh at her faults,” said Colin. 

“That is Senta,” Duchess Margaretha grudgingly conceded. “But surely she is not to your taste?” 

“Not that we are doubting Your Majesty’s judgment,” added Duke Ingmar in a tone that implied he was very much doubting his sovereign’s judgment, sanity, and powers of general observation. “Senta is a good girl, yet…” 

“Yet she cannot be who you want,” finished the duchess. 

“Is there something wrong with Lady Senta?” Colin asked frankly. 

“Oh, nothing in particular,” Duke Ingmar waved a hand dismissively. “Her constitution is neither delicate nor robust, she takes ill as often as anyone. She has no tendency to any evil vice and her teeth are good. Betimes she sulks, but the servants have assured us it is within the ordinary range of such things.” 

Duchess Margaretha fluttered her fan faster, “Not that we would know such things for our other children have not an iota of sulkiness!

“Your primary objection seems to be that you do not believe Senta is good enough to be queen,” the king said at last. “Is that correct?”

“That is a most indelicate way of putting it,” cried the Duchess. “Yet we cannot deny that any of our other daughters would be better suited to the status of queen - far and away better suited compared to Senta. She is not queenly.” 

“If that is your only objection, then may I secure your blessing?” Colin asked. The asking was a mere formality. If Senta consented to be his bride they would wed and if she did not they would not. The duke and duchess had very little to do with it, but traditions were traditions. “And if you do not I will be seeking a bride outside this family. Ladies Julia, Clothilde, Adalheid, and Philipinna do not suit me.” 

The duchess and duke exchanged woebegone glances. 

“We suppose…”

“That if that your royal mind is made up…” 

“We must graciously accede to Your Majesty’s wishes…”

“Misguided as they may be.” 

What was the point of raising one’s heirs to be educated, charming, talented, and most importantly fair of face and figure when a king would prefer a plain, middling consort?

“Of course she will marry you,” sighed the duke.

“No,” Colin said, heartily sick of families who would shame their kin for no reason. “I will make my proposal and Senta will decide. And if she declines you are not to treat her badly for it. She is more queenly than the rest of your brood though you know it not.” 

Senta stayed where she was in the hallway. There was not use pretending she hadn’t been eavesdropping. Better than her future husband know as many of her faults as possible ahead of time. When the king said he would ask permission for her hand in the garden that morning she hadn’t really believed him. It seemed a silly jest.

“They are right,” Senta said when Colin left the solar and stepped into the hallway. “I’m not good enough to be a queen. A tolerable baroness or countess at best. I’m not the sort they sing ballads about.” 

“It is not always well to be the subject of a ballad,” Colin shrugged. “Will you marry me Lady Senta?” 

It wasn’t a rose garden and there were no love tokens, but Senta didn’t really mind. If anything it was strangely comical to have a king ask for one’s hand in a dim hallway after being thoroughly annoyed by one’s parents. It tickled both her scant vanity and her vaster sense of humor. 

“I suppose I’ll regret it if I refuse,” mused Senta. “At five-and-twenty I have no surplus of offers and I’d really rather not live being compared to my dear siblings anymore.”

Colin’s mouth twitched as if he wanted to laugh, “Not because you feel honored by being asked by your sovereign? Or a wealthy man? Or a handsome man?” It sounded like teasing rather than hurt feelings which to Senta’s mind was a good sign. 

“It’s not fashionable to say so, but you are only king through a happy accident of birth,” Senta said breezily as if her heart were not beating just a little faster. “As for wealth I have pedigree enough where I would be thrown to some wealthy man for a second or third wife as long as my virtue was intact. Your features are good, but not too far out of the common way. You are not the ideal prince out a story or song.”

A strange mixture of emotion came over the king’s face and Senta thought she might have been as thoughtless as her family always implied she was. 

“I was once considered a prince out of a song, when I was younger. Perhaps ten years ago. I had a lovely wife they sung ballads about. I do apologize that you would be my second wife, but it is not a reflection on your character or visage.”

“Oh,” Senta wasn’t sure where to begin. “I did know Your Majesty was a widower, everyone does of course. But I do not mind being a second wife much, I was resigned to it from childhood. I am not getting my first choice husband so it stands you are not getting a first choice wife.” 

“Who is your first choice husband? Is there some peasant boy that I ought be jealous of?” 

“No, you’re thinking of Julia,” Senta said glibly though really Julia should stop stringing silly Karl along. “My first choice would be not to feel pressured into any choice at all, menfolk do not particularly overexcite my passions. But given my druthers I’d rather be married than unmarried for I have no independent wealth or means of livelihood. And given further choices I’d prefer the husband not to be too uncouth, too infirm, too mean-spirited, or too ugly. Therefore I must inform Your Majesty that you are what remains after all the unbearable suitors have been eliminated.” 

Surely the king would see how awful it would be to have such a wife as Senta and rescind his offer, but he did not lose his temper. Indeed he almost chuckled though the sound was rueful. “Will you marry me, Lady Senta? Even though I am all that remains?”

“Yes, I accept,” said Senta, blushing as she realized she had not properly answered. “On the condition that my mother and sisters, bless them, are not allowed to have any say in my wedding gown. On that I am firm.” 

“It shall be all as you wish, Lady Senta.” 

“Then we shall be reasonably happy,” Senta replied. She did not need a marriage of great romance and passion even if deep down she wanted one. But she was little in the way of getting what she wanted. Even her very name was a badge of her subordinate status and lack of distinction in the family. 

The wedding was much nicer than Senta thought she had any right. It was not as grand as the king’s first wedding, or so the reports went. Senta had not been in attendance to that happy event, though her mother and father had taken Julia in hopes of finding her a high ranking husband amongst the guests. They had returned enraptured by the fashions, but much disappointed in Julia’s coming away empty-handed. 

“The Queen was too beautiful!” the Duchess had lamented. “So radiant and exquisitely clad it was nearly vulgar! How could anyone hope to be noticed in her vicinity? You’d think she’d take some pity on the unfortunate unmarried young ladies of the kingdom and have the decency not to make others so dull in comparison. None of the men could look away even though she’d been taken off the market!” 

“I do not suppose she could help being beautiful,” Senta had replied at the time. “And if I were to be the queen I would want to look as radiant as possible on my wedding day and I wouldn’t think a bit about the lovelorn for my head would be too full of joy to remember them.” 

“You ought to have seen it, sisters,” Julia had reported. “The worst of it was not even her gown, or jewels, or even her queer amber eyes. No, the worst was that she had a _haunting_ smile.” The words dangled there for full impact. “You know the sort, do you not? That particular brand of sorrow mixed with happiness that certain girls use to make themselves seem bewitching and oh-so-deep.”

“Her Majesty would probably much rather not have any sorrows than have sorrow lend her a bewitching smile,” Senta had pointed out. 

Julia had only sniffed in response at that. 

Now Julia sniffed at Senta’s wedding gown, but Senta was too happy to be vexed. 

“Robin’s egg blue silk? When the first queen was married in cloth-of-gold? You could have been married in silver and diamonds at the very least!” their mother wrung her hands over it all. 

Naturally Senta did not want to be married in gold or silver. As she explained to her matronly new lady-in-waiting, Dame Gertrud, “I cannot wear anything like what Her Majesty wore when they were married. Not because I’m jealous, you understand, but I think it would be a painful reminder to King Colin. I know I would not want a second husband to wear the same costumes as my first for it would cast such a sorrowful shadow.” 

“Your good heart does you credit, Your Majesty,” Gertrud smiled. “You’re nothing like the first queen, but I think you’ll be good for the king. The queen, may she rest in peace, would have liked you.” 

“Do you really think so? I’d like to imagine she would’ve liked me,” Senta smiled nervously at her reflection in the mirror. She hardly recognized herself in such a lovely gown. Being the daughter of a duke and duchess meant she always had fine clothes since birth, but they were never the gowns she wanted to wear as the duchess and her sisters tended to override her wishes. “One would like to be liked by a queen of course. Yet because Colin loved her so, I think she must have been a kindred spirit. For I flatter myself that the king likes me a little.” 

“More than a little!” laughed Dame Gertrud. 

“Yet he does not smile often and he never laughs,” Senta twisted the rings on her fingers. 

“After what happened to the late queen he does not, no,” said Gertrud. “Though I can assure you that he is much happier these past weeks with you than he has been since that unhappy event. He may never be in gay spirits truly ever again, but that does not mean you have not affected him for the better.” 

Senta could only hope that was true 

The wedding passed in a blur of merriment and Senta danced more that night than she had in the past five years combined. She was a little worried that the king would be cross that she wore out her first new pair of dancing slippers in one night.

“They make those shoes more delicate every year from what I can see,” Colin had shook his head with a rueful smile. “I’m told it’s to make the wearer’s feet look smaller though it may be a ploy by cobblers for more business. Let me rub your feet, lady wife, if they are sore, and you can order a new set of slippers in the morning.” 

Much to Senta’s surprise they talked a great deal more on their wedding night than other things. That’s not to say that the marriage was not traditionally consummated. It was, but there was still a lot of quiet time in between the vigorous bouts of activity. 

Colin told her of Gold Tree. How she had escaped her wicked mother by marrying Colin. They had not been in love at first, for he had been a young prince seeking his fortune and hardly knew what love was. Yet soon they were deeply enthralled by each other when she was killed by evil mother Silver Tree. Of course there was more to it than that, ten thousand little details and nuances some spoken of and others not. 

“If you show me her grave I want to bring her flowers,” Senta told him in the morning. “I feel as though I ought. I am so sad for her and while I cannot bring her comfort beyond the grave I may at least respect her memory.” 

“No,” Colin’s eyes closed for a moment and brow furrowed. “Where she lies is not accessible to anyone. I appreciate your sense of honor and decency. As long as you do your best to love and serve the people of our kingdom that would be the greatest comfort to Gold Tree’s soul.” 

It still did not seem right, to do nothing. Senta had spent a great deal of her short life doing nothing at her family’s insistence. 

“If I cannot leave flowers someplace I might as well grow them,” she reasoned. “Or at the least have some very capable gardeners grow some.”

Which was how a fallow disused piece of the castle grounds became a very neat little flower garden with a few pear trees in honor of Gold Tree. There were no portraits of any kind hanging of the late queen, for she had died before she could sit for any painter, and her few possessions had been locked away for she would never use them again. Senta thought that at least now there was something in her remembrance. 

Colin was not displeased with her garden, Gold Tree’s Garden as the plaque stated, nor did he visit it. He simply seemed glad it existed. 

For a while things were very ordinary and Senta was well content. 

Until she found the key the morning Colin had gone hunting. 

It was a very pretty little key. The metal shone with a strange patina and the scrollwork on the bow was beautiful enough to double as jewelry. Its very singular nature made Senta immediately realize she’d never seen it before on the ring of the castle’s household keys for she would have remembered it. She might have thought it some ornamental bauble if not for the faint scratch lines on the blade. 

“I wonder what you open,” Senta said aloud. “It cannot be a little box or a chest for you are too large and would have never been placed on the household ring.” 

Everyone knew of stories of fairy keys appearing suddenly that opened doors to the land of fey. Remotely possible, but Senta thought it unlikely as fey sightings were rarer than hen’s teeth. Much more likely was some small treasury in the keep, housing old royal heirlooms and that of the like. 

“Or there could be a room of dead wives,” sighed Senta as she turned the key over in her hand. “I’ve read some nice little horrors like that. I certainly hope that is not the case. The key’d be utilitarian and bloodstained I shouldn’t wonder. And I would terribly hate to have misjudged Colin. I’m very fond of him at this point and I’ve always fancied myself a decent judge of character. There’s no use pretending I won’t go looking for the door it opens. I’m too curious for that. I can only hope it leads to some dusty antiques.” 

After eliminating all the other rooms with keys accounted for Senta reasoned that only the deepest parts of the cellars and the highest garrets in the towers were left. Which meant that by the time she got to the little door in the southwest turret she was quite dusty and exhausted by her explorations. “You certainly led me on a merry chase,” she scolded the key. “I may very well find something extraordinary and I look a fright. Perhaps if it’s a monster I shall scare it before it can attack me.” 

The door was smallish, perhaps three feet or so high, and a plain dark wood that didn’t look mysterious at all. If anything the hinges had started to rust a bit at the edges. However, what was important was that the pretty little key fit into the lock and the door swung open. 

On an elegant dais in the middle of the mysterious room was Gold Tree. 

It had to be Gold Tree. 

A radiantly beautiful young woman of dark olive complexion and dark silky hair lay as though asleep. If her eyes had been open Senta was sure they would have been that famous queer amber gold hue. Senta could not tell if she was paralyzed from the strangeness of the tableau or because she was utterly smitten with the woman she saw there. 

Not a murdered wife, but a late one nonetheless. 

“They must have preserved her with magic,” Senta frowned. “I can see why Colin said there was no grave accessible.”

Still those thoughts were trivial in the face of such loveliness. Senta could not find it in her heart to be mad at Colin. Anyone’s heart would break if they were told someone as lovely as Gold Tree had to be buried. 

“You are even more beautiful than they have said,” Senta leaned over Gold Tree and stroked her brow. “The ballads do not do you justice, dear one. I am half in love with you and I have never even exchanged a word with you. I apologize for being Colin’s wife, perhaps you would have preferred him to be a widower forever, no I can tell you were too good to wish him unhappy for long. Dear Gold Tree, I wish you had lived a long happy life as queen. I would not begrudge you a tiny bit. I would gladly go back to being a spinster-to-be if it meant you were alive and well.” 

Naturally, there was no response. 

Overcome with emotion Senta grasped Gold Tree’s left hand to kiss it in a show of gallantry and love. 

That was when she noticed the tip of a needle sticking out of Gold Tree’s little finger. 

“Who would do this to you darling Gold Tree?” Senta pulled out the horrid needle, half-crying as she did so. 

Two heartbeats later Gold Tree drew breath.

**Author's Note:**

> * 'Senta' is a Germanic name meaning "assistant."


End file.
